


The Prince and The Plegian

by SpookedRabbits



Category: Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: Childhood, Crushes, Emerina/Female My Unit | Emmeryn/Female Avatar, Gen, Mama Robin, Royalty, Wild Child Robin, Xenophobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-04
Updated: 2015-01-04
Packaged: 2018-03-05 07:42:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3111656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpookedRabbits/pseuds/SpookedRabbits
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At the height of summer, when the caravans creak into Ylisse, Chrom meets a foreign girl who is nothing like the stiff, strained life he has come to know. Twelve years old and never having gone beyond the city gates, that wild Plegian gives him a taste of freedom. Chrom/Robin with an accidental hint of Emmeryn/Robin. For A Shadow's Lament.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Prince and The Plegian

**Author's Note:**

> This story kinda started as play about with the 'village girl' Chrom can potentially bed down with.
> 
> It got out of hand.
> 
> The characters in this are young 'uns, Robin's hit puberty and Chrom is like 'what, girls are cool now?'. Emmeryn's seventeen. Rated for blood and mentions of violence.
> 
> As per usual, I own nothing of Fire Emblem and gain no financial benefit from this story.

Chrom's heels beat rhythmically against the fountain, his face half-buried in the hot, cinnamon-y treat the gypsies had sold him. He loved coming to down here during the warmer months - when the exotic trader caravans, draped in brightly colour cloth and smelling richly of their wares, would rattle into town.

He would always start the same way, staring long and hard at each stall before he made any decisions, trying to look as serious and grown up as possible. He always bought his sisters at least one gift, and when his parents had been alive – Chrom bit _harder_ into his pastry – he would have sought out gifts for them, too. Nowadays, he gave them to those closest to him, and occasionally the maids and manservants who tended to him.

After his shopping, he would buy himself a treat, usually a sweet bun or sticky toffee, and sit at the white marble fountain that was the centre of the main market square. It was a beautiful piece, great statues of his mother and father welcoming the people with wide, open arms. The water fanned out behind them, catching the light and setting rainbows playing across the mist. It was a cool relief, a place to sit out of the hustle and bustle.

Some days Chrom would come out and spend hours just staring at their carved faces, locked eternally in expression of goodwill and tenderness. It was a far cry from the stilted, posed portraits in the palace, or even the last few months of their lives.

Lately, since the aftermath of the war, graffiti had built up on the base. Never on the statues themselves, not even the lowlife ingrates who sullied his parent's memory would stoop to that. But the dais was filthy with tar and paint, and it set Chrom's blood boiling to the point he could barely think.

Chrom tried to shake off the melancholy that had settled over his mood, and chose instead to focus on his mission for the day.

He had already found a pretty hair piece for Emmeryn, and had been very proud to haggle it down from six gold pieces to four. Lissa was a little trickier, but eventually Chrom had seen a bright, leathery ball that was perfect for his sister's madcap gamboling. It was a little pricey, but Chrom had been saving the allowance his sister gave him just for this time.

He wondered what Frederick would like, and guiltily remembered he'd given his guard the slip earlier on today. Well, he was a grown up! He was twelve, and at age twelve Chrom was certain _that_ was old enough to be a man!

"Maybe some jerky for Frederick," he mumbled to himself as a cart laden with cured meat rumbled by. The smell made his stomach rumble, even as he ate the cinnamon roll. He was always hungry nowadays! Maybe it had to do with the amount he was growing.

"Maybe some jerky for Frederick," a thickly accented voice mimicked, and for a second Chrom wondered if he'd imagined the mockery, or begun hearing voices in the tinkling water.

"Huh?" he said aloud, spraying flakey pastry across his lap.

"Huh? Says the gormless boy stuffing his face," the voice taunted again, and now Chrom looked about wildly. The voice spoke his tongue perfectly well, but the words were tempered and curled by the inflection. It turned each sentence exotic and rolled consonants in a way that was eerily familiar. "Look up, foolish little boy. Your enemies are closer than you think."

Chrom shot to his feet then, he parcels scattering every which way as he fumbled for the tiny knife he kept hidden on his person. "Sh-show yourself! _And stop making fun of me_!" Now he wished Frederick would find him, even if it would earn him a scolding.

Even with the raucous laughter that followed, it took Chrom a further three seconds to locate the position of his observer. It was a boyish girl, or a feminine boy, dangling from the statue of his father by one thin hand, like a monkey from a tree. He or she had a mass of bright white hair, some of it bound back in braids, and the colour was so unusual to Ylisse that Chrom stared slack-jawed for a few seconds.

"Ew, little boy, I can see your breakfast!" he or she squealed, twisting about so he or she now swung upside down from his father's outstretched left arm. The movement made the youth's thick grey coat part open, hanging down to almost brush the pool of water, and Chrom could see the subtle swell of her breasts under her pink shirt. The thought of them made him blush, for some reason.

The girl was clearly waiting for a reaction, her dark brown eyes glittering with mischief. "I know you can talk, _little boy_."

"My name is Chrom, not little boy!" he sputtered indignantly, then inwardly flinched. He had been very firmly instructed not to reveal his true name when venturing out with minimal guards. It was dangerous – he could get kidnapped and held for ransom. What was left unsaid was that the people of Ylisstol were just as likely to harm him as outlaws and brigands.

The girl made no indication she was interested in that fact, and merely swung back and forth from the statue cooing and cackling madly to herself.

"Chrom, I am a Chrom, I am Chrom and steel, and diamond, diamond glazed my hair like dewdrops on a spiderweb, little spider, hey ho, weave me into your worrrld," she sang, flipping and pushing with one foot off the statue to land neatly on the marble lip. "Do you know that song?"

"Um, no." If this moment had been any less weird, Chrom was sure he would be more upset over her treating the royal figures like her own gymnasium.

"That's because I made it up! Just then!" The girl flung her arms out wide, bouncing on the balls of her feet. "I am a genius!" She frowned at him when he just stared. "Say I am a genius or I will poke you full of holes." A slender dagger appeared in her hands.

"You're an idiot," Chrom said flatly, and the girl chortled loudly.

"Chrom says I'm an idiot," she sing-songed, the dagger disappearing again. "Who's Frederick, huh? Your –" she gasped dramatically, "- boyfriiiiend?"

Chrom rolled his eyes at her antics, feeling that they should be beneath him but unable to stop the smile tugging at his lips. The girl looked inordinately pleased at his reaction, and stopped her prancing long enough to listen to what he had to say. She was always on the move. "No, of course not."

"He's your bodyguard!" She gasped again. "You're royalty!" Even though he knew she was teasing, the panic lever switched and Chrom went into full gabble mode.

"Oh, no Frederick? Egads, no, he's….uh, just a friend, well I say friend, he works for me…no, he doesn't! He works with me! I don't work, we just spend time together but not in the way you were thinking! Friends but not friends, in a really friendly way we are just friends, and I – "

"My name's Taghrid," the girl interrupted before Chrom could continue. The boy sagged with relief until his ears caught up with him. Taghrid? What a strange name!

"Tag-Rid?" he said slowly, and she shook her head impatiently.

"No! TAAAH-ghred," she said slowly, her thick accent making the word syrupy and purring. "It means singing bird, like a starling, or a robin."

"Why not just call yourself Robin, then?' Chrom mumbled, not intending her to hear. But she clearly had good hearing, because the next thing he knew she had planted her feet in front of him and was scowling angrily into his face. She was a good half a head taller than him, and had to lean down slightly.

"My name is fine, thank you!" she shouted. "What kind of name is 'Chrom' anyway? It sounds like a biscuit!"

Chrom coloured, match her scowl for scowl. " I'll have you know it's a princely name!"

The girl – Robin, as he was spitefully thinking of her – sneered and spat. "Ohhh, should I bow, then, Prince Biscuit?"

"You should little Robin," he mocked, wildly pleased when she turned tomato red and actually hopped about on the spot. Hah, a little robin! "You should, or I'll call the guards and have them throw you in the dungeon!" Chrom wasn't sure if they still had dungeons, but he wasn't about to leave and check. He was certain Emmeryn could organize dungeons for at least this little bird.

Robin fell silent and thoughtful for a moment, tapping one pale finger to her lips. "Well, in that case," she said slowly, her eyes landing back on Chrom. Without warning, she darted forward and seized his head in her small hands, grabbing fistfuls of his hair so he couldn't escape. For one moment he thought she was going to kiss him, a thought that both made him panic and blush.

Frozen and contemplative, she stared right into his eyes, blue to brown, and then she grinned toothily – her teeth were slightly crooked, he noticed dazedly. She tilted his head to the side, and Chrom began squirming anew as he felt her warm, sticky tongue drag up his cheek and over his forehead.

"They'll have to catch me first!" she shouted gleefully, and then took off down the street, screaming at the top of her lungs, "I licked the prince! The Princely Biscuit has my spit!"

"You are gross!" Chrom screamed after her, rubbing hard at his face. "You run, Robin!  _I'll find you_!"

* * *

" _Taghrid strikes from above_!" A voice screamed distressingly close, and Chrom leapt away from his window with a surprised yelp. A shadow crashed onto his window sill and immediately got caught up in its own cloak, cursing with great creativity.

Chrom was torn between reaching for his own sword and running to Frederick to deal with the most inept assassin he had ever seen, when he caught a flash of milk-white hair. "Robin?" he ventured and the bundle howled in protest.

"Taghrid, you imbecile! I even announced myself," she moaned, finally freeing herself from her self-induced prison. She sat sprawled out on the plush carpet for a moment, blinking owlishly. Then she was on her feet and in full gawp-mode.

"You actually live here?" Robin was off, wrapping herself in his light silk curtains, running her hands over his bedsheets and examining the paintings set on his wall.

"Um, it's my second summer room," he explained. "It's pretty nice. My usual one is nicer."

Robin stared at him incredulously. "You have two summer rooms? Wait,  _summer_  rooms? You have a winter room? An autumn room? Do you have a _spring_ room? Wait, that's a garden, I suppose."

"How did you get up here?" Chrom finally managed to ask, casting a disbelieving look towards his huge window. It was near half past eight at night and his rooms were located on the ninth floor.

"Climbed. Of course. I can't fly, Chrom, don't be ridiculous, I can't believe you would even suggest it," she scoffed, smirking when he began to splutter.

"I didn't, you did!," Chrom argued, even though that was beside the point. "You could have died!"

"Could have, but didn't," Robin said airily. "Your guardsmen have six holes in their patrols. I watch them for hours!"

"Why?"

"Because I followed you home. I was going to throw some things at you but then I saw where you lived."

"Why did you follow me home?"

"You're first person who didn't kick me for being Plegian!" Though she grinned when she said this, Chrom could see the hurt brewing behind her eyes. "Besides, I'm fourteen. I'm a grown up. I get to make my own decisions. As long as my mum is okay with it." So she was older than him. This just made her more interesting.

"Oh, what's all that?" she gasped, making a beeline for the tray covering his supper. Rob – Taghrid ran her finger over the surface curiously. "It's warm! What's under it?"

"Um, food," Chrom hazarded, and Robin's eyes – he gave up trying to remember that odd name – grew to the size of saucers.

"It lays food?" At first Chrom thought she was quite serious, until her snort of laughter broke her sincerity. "Kidding! Kidding! I've seen these before, but wow, I didn't think kids got to eat the stuff under them!" she looked at him wondering. "You really are a prince."

"This is a royal suite," Chrom muttered. "I don't warm the bed for the other prince and then go sleep in the stables." Though he hadn't intended for her to find it funny, Robin laughed richly, and Chrom blushed again. He wasn't sure what the protocol was on having a foreign girl drop into your room at bedtime, but something told him it would not be a good idea to have the maids find Robin here. A heavy weight in his stomach was sending signals that having a  _pretty_  foreign girl in his room was a  _great_  idea.

"You can have some, if you like," Chrom offered, and Robin's jaw dropped. "I ate a lot at dinner." Chrom usually devoured his supper, but tonight he knew that giving Robin the first choice would be in his favour. Hopefully she would leave him some.

"Really?…" Robin removed the silver dishcover with a reverential air, gaping at the food laid out before her. Chrom looked at it, to see if it had changed from his usual fare. Garlic scones slathered with creamy butter, sweet vegetable broth, a slab of blueberry pie and fragrant black tea. Nope, all the same.

But Robin was staring at it like the dishes were mid-tap-dance. "Oh, heavens above," she said faintly. "Is this what you eat every day? There's so much of it!" She picked up a dripping scone and took a tentative bite – the groan of delight Robin let out had Chrom furiously studying his toes. "Crazy good!" She said brightly, devouring the scone in short order.

Thankfully, she stuck to one scone, a few spoonfuls of the soup – "I think I'd eat so many vegetables if they came like this! So peppery!" – and a few mouthfuls of the blueberry pie. Chrom came over to join her while she was sampling the soup and poured her a cup of tea, running to his mantelpiece to grab a chipped mug Lissa had clumsily painted for him so he at least wouldn't miss out on his favourite brew.

When he got back Robin had set aside the pie but was sending such longing glances towards it Chrom felt compelled to push it towards her. She gave him a look of true wonder, and flashed a slightly blue-stained smile. "You are the greatest Prince I know. And I know of at least one other prince besides you." Chrom's ears burned red as he poured another cup of tea.

When he pushed the fine china towards her, Robin looked up from her devouring, apprehensively staring at the cup. "You actually drink out of it? Don't you just, I dunno, look at it?"

Chrom stifled a giggle, and Robin looked intrigued. "Yeah, drink some, it's really good." He hoped she liked it. He didn't know why he hoped she liked it, but he wanted them to like the same things.

Happily, when Robin took her first sip her face lit up. "This is sort of like the tea my mother makes!" she exclaimed, taking small, enthused gulps. "You are so lucky, Chrom! I wish I could eat like this every day!" she laughed. "I'd be such a porker! Porky Taghrid!"

"Taghrid…where is that from?" Chrom hazarded, remembering the last time her name was brought up.

"It's Plegian," she answered. She observed him shrewdly over the rim of her cup. "My mum's Plegian. I'm Plegian. I heard Ylisseans don't like Plegians." She took another sip, her gaze challenging now.  _What do you think of Plegians?_  She seemed to ask.

Chrom was at the age where he felt he knew everything, or at least was entitled to an opinion on everything. But as for Plegians…he knew about the war, the toll it took on his people and how it ravaged the land. But personally, the only Plegian he knew of was the old woman down in the laundry who sometimes gave him honey sweets. Though he hadn't seen her recently…

"Well…you're the first Plegian I've met properly," he admitted slowly. "And you seem pretty okay. Kinda…extreme. But you like all the stuff I like, and – "  _and you're pretty and funny and you make me want to run around and shout with you when I don't also want to smack you in the face_ , was how he wanted to finish the sentence. But Robin looked happy with his answer.

"I keep thinking of you as Robin," he blurted out, and flinched when he felt her gaze bore into him. "I mean, I just…Taghrid is a really uncommon name around here…"

"Hmmm, Rrrrrobin," she rolled out slowly. "Not bad for a nickname, I suppose. But you remember, Princey! I'm Taghrid! Through and through!"

"Why are you so attached to your name?" Chrom asked, a shade timidly, because Robin looked especially fierce in the firelight, her hair set in streaks of gold and crimson. She looked like a lioness ready to pounce, and the idea made him shiver.

Robin shrugged and slouched down in the armchair she had claimed. Chrom liked her sitting there. "Mother and I…we moved with a lot of people from Plegia. A lot of people looking for a new home who had lost theirs…"

 _Refugees_ , was what Emmeryn called them in their lessons. Asylum seekers. People who had nothing and had escaped being tortured and killed. People who needed compassion above all else.

"A lot of them, to blend in a little better, threw off the old ways," Robin continued. "Tried to speak with the accent. Cooked Ylissean food. Took Ylissean names. There are kids being born who don't have any connection to their ancestors back in Plegia. Imagine. A whole history just…boom. Gone." Robin straightened up. "I won't do that! I like my culture, my food, my language! My name!"

She gazed into the fire. "I'd hate to lose my name. It's part of who I am." She raised her voice to a shout, springing up and planting her feet onto the cushions. "I am Taghrid! The Defender! The Destroyer! The Plegian Hero! The Desert Warrior!" She pitched her voice deep and gravelly. "Devourer of Royal Pies!"

Someone pounded at the door, breaking the spell over them. "Prince Chrom?" came Frederick's muffled voice. "Is someone in there with you?"

Chrom looked back to Robin, but she was already at the windowsill, stuffing the last morsel of pie into her mouth. "Fanksh, Chrw'm," she mumbled, waving cheekily. She swallowed with some difficulty. "Come back to the market tomorrow, just after midday! I'll pay you back for the food!"

Then she leapt into the darkness, just as Frederick entered his room. Ignoring his companion's worried enquiry, Chrom stared out at the velvet night.

* * *

"Ohhhh, the Prince has graced me with his presence," a voice purred by his ear, and Chrom jumped away, yelping in an undignified manner that would have even Emmeryn cringing.

When he recovered, Robin had thankfully gotten over her laughing fit. She looked slightly different today, and it wasn't just the bulky cloth-wrapped package strapped to her back. Her braids were neater, tighter, and pulled back from her face with a blue ribbon. Her clothes were still boyish but better fitting, and Chrom fixed his eyes on her face to avoid staring at her form-fitting shirt. Even her face was cleaner, putting her porcelain complexion and dark brown eyes in contrast.

"You – you look nice," Chrom offered bashfully, and Robin looked down at herself dismissively.

"Yeah, I asked my mum last night to make us some food, because you gave me some of yours, and she got all excited," Robin grunted. "Got me to wear my good clothes and take a bath. I had one last week! And I fell in that fountain three times, so that counts as at least four baths!" She eyed him, and smiled quite sweetly. "You look nice, too. Did your mum also dress you that way?"

Chrom tried to fight off the blush. He had dressed with unusual care this morning, even taking the time to brush his unruly hair from his face. But he didn't want to tell Robin  _he_  had dressed that way for her, that his mother was long-gone and had been too interested in her opium in the last few weeks of her life to dress him anyway. What if Robin only liked boys who had mothers?

"Yeah, she did," he lied, and felt terrible, but Robin looked like she would accept anything he said. What had he done to earn her trust so easily?

"Mums, huh," she laughed. "Anyway, my mum made us some Plegian food. You don't have to eat it if you don't want to, but you can at least sit with me. Come on, I know a super cool super secret super high super amazing place we can sit!"

Robin was off, and Chrom scrambled after her. He wasn't used to being in the market at this time, when the crowds were thicker and more impatient. He almost lost her a couple of times, until Robin grabbed his left hand and began to maneuver him through the crowd. He should have paid attention to how she moved, fleet-footed and acrobatic, like she had worked crowds before. But he was too focused on the warmth of her hands over his, and how it sent tingles right up to his shoulder.

Finally they were out of the main area and down one of the little side streets Chrom had never been down. He was seriously regretting it now. Each open doorway seemed to lead into a new, exciting shop – a patisserie selling delectable treats; a dusty bookstore, a heavy-lidded cat lazing in the sun; an apothecary with a familiar green-haired boy enthusiastically grinding a herb to paste; a foreign shop selling goods from Chon'sin.

Robin did not slow her pace, and pulled him down yet another narrow entryway. This was into a damp little alley, the stones cracking beneath his feet and washing lines criss-crossing overhead. She released her grip on him, to his disappointment, and pointed to a rickety drainpipe snaking up the brickwork of the foreign shop. "There! We just shimmy up the pipe and we're onto the spot." She made it sound like a mystical land.

Chrom was doubtful. The pipe was old, rickety, and only half of it was still bolted to the wall. "Come on," Robin said encouragingly. "I've climbed up it a dozen times in the past week. You'll see. It's perfect."

She pushed him forward, making him stumble. Under her stare he edged towards the duct, wrapping his hands around the length uncertainly. Bits of rust flaked off and shaded his hands red. "I-I don't know where to go now," he quavered. "I've never done this before."

"Oh." He knew Robin was behind him by the heat at his back. Why was she so warm? No, not warm. Hot. Boiling. "I assumed you had. You know, prince breaking out of his palace and all that."

"I just leave through the garden gate," he confessed, and was heartened when Robin chuckled.

"Hah, clever! Very simple!" To his enormous surprise and no small amount of embarrassment, Robin's arms snaked under his – her limbs were long and slender, but he could see the muscle cording under her skin. "Okay, so what you're going to do is hold onto the pipe and lift yourself into a crouch until you can put your feet on the wall. Then you're going to use that to kinda walk up the wall. Your arms will mainly be used to keep your feet at the right angle, and your legs will do a lot of the work. I'll go on like this so if you fall, I'll catch you."

"I might fall?" Chrom asked, his voice high-pitched and panicked. He turned his head to look at Robin – her eyes were huge, even in the shadowy alley, and he was close enough to see tiny flecks of caramel amidst the coffee-brown.

"Yes," she said soothingly. "But that's what makes it fun! Anything worthwhile doing is hard, Chrom." She looked at him questioningly. "Are you ready?"

"No," he breathed. "But I won't ever be, so let's go for it anyway." A flutter of excitement and apprehension was going mad in his stomach, though whether it was because of the pipe or Robin's admiring look, he could not say.

"That's the spirit!" She cheered, and easily planted her legs either side of his torso. The press of her against him was enough for his own body to react accordingly, and in a moment his soft, stitched shoes were between Robin's hard leather boots.

"Wow," he gasped, and he felt her giggle again. "That was easier than I thought!"

"Yup! Hard part's over!" In the end, Chrom figured it was Robin who really got them up there. He was able to hold his own, slinging arm over arm and scaling the pipe, but without her comforting presence and encouraging words, he doubted he would have made it even halfway on his own.

She was very strong, was Robin. She held her own weight, a part of his and that heavy pack for the whole ascent, never breaking stride or stopping for breath. She kept up her taunts and jokes the whole way, telling him to look at the view of the market as they climbed. She shrieked with laughter when they passed an open window on the third floor – third floor? How did they get so high so soon – and saw half a dozen tiny children engaged in a serious bathtub bubble war. At the fourth and last floor she slyly stole a few springs of mint from a pot balanced on a ledge, and gave some to Chrom to chew. It was refreshing, lively and naughty, to eat stolen mint while dangling dangerously above the cold hard ground.

Up here, Chrom did not feel like a prince. He felt like a Chrom, and that was amazing.

Chrom realized, later on, that Robin had kept up the stream of conversation to distract him from the stones below, the slippery parts of leaky pipe and whenever the bolts groaned and shuddered, ready to tear away. But he was sufficiently distracted by just Robin – a few loose braids brushed the back of his neck, her breath tickled his ear and the steady, strong beat of her heart made him wish the pipe would go on forever.

Also, her chest kept bumping against his back, and each time it would sort of wipe his brain.

Too soon, they were at the top, and Robin was shoving him over the lip with a shout of "All steady now, ye landlubber wishy washy seagull starboard rumblind – I don't know anymore sailor words!"

Chrom tumbled onto warm, terracotta tiles, momentarily terrified he was going to slip off the roof after all this time. But Robin caught the back of his shirt and sat him down firmly next to her. "See? Pretty," she said, waving her hand out in front of him. "I gotcha. You just enjoy the view." Chrom obediently looked out over the city – and was speechless for a time.

Here was a view of Ylisse he had never seen before. Either it was from the ground, lost among guardsmen and attendants, or from the high windows of the palace. There all the cottages turned to dollhouses and the lights to pinpricks.

But here, Chrom felt he was a part of his city, while secretly tucked away. Chimneys sprouted haphazardly around them, and all sorts of smells poured out with the smoke. Raspberry jam, sweet cedar wood, fresh bread, fragrant tobacco, spicy perfume. The warm summery breeze took away the smoke and left them a clean view of the city. The citizens hung washing, gossiped with friends on balconies, kissed their spouses sweetly at kitchen windows and chased their children outside to play.

It was fifty stories all playing out before Chrom, and for a time all he could do was stare.

"It's amazing, but you really should eat," Robin commented behind him, and he swivelled to see she had set out the food. "My mum went a little overboard, when she heard you were a prince."

Chrom swallowed thickly as he took in the fare before him. Robin had plated almost all the dishes, but he did not recognize many of them. A bowl of rice sat to the side, familiar and delightfully aromatic. "What are these?" he asked timidly, expecting another lash out. But Robin looked absolutely thrilled to talk about the food.

"You really want to try it?!" she gasped, and began to point to each dish in turn. "Okay! So! These little crunchy balls are called Ta'amiya, it's made with a kind of white bean mixed with a bunch of other stuff, my mum fries it and you wrap it up on one of those flatbreads! I like to put that hummus – uh, it's a type of dip? – on it. Loads of it. My mum makes it with roasted garlic and I swear it's the best hummus you will ever taste! That hot dish is lamb stewed with cinnamon and saffron, it's soooo good! Mum also made us some Labaneya, it's a kind of spinach soup. Sounds blech, but again, super good. My mum is a wizard in the kitchen!"

Robin broke off to mysteriously chortle at this. "I think she also made some shakshuka, which you might find a little more familiar. That's eggs poached in a tomato sauce. Then she made us basbousa and some shaved ice with rose syrup." With flourish, Robin pulled out a huge bottle of dark liquid. "Pluuus hibiscus tea!"

"That sounds like a lot of food," Chrom commented, and Robin rolled her eyes.

"Yeah, it's kind of a culture thing, my mum assumes that if I have one friend then I must have four more stashed away somewhere," she grumbled, but Chrom could see the affection in her eyes.

"We're friends?" Chrom asked in a tiny voice, and Robin looked at him in shock.

"Of course we are!" she exclaimed. "I only break into the bedrooms of my friends!"

"Oh. Do you do that often?" Again, Chrom wasn't sure what he said was so funny, but he appreciated her riotous laughter all the same.

Robin began to serve the food, waving him aside when he tried to help and insisting that "in my culture, a guest never serves himself or herself! Just tell me what you would like to try and I'll get it". Finally, they sat side by side on the warm tiles, their elbows occasionally brushing as they ate.

Chrom found the hummus to be quite addictive, and was soon enthusiastically dipping the pillowy flatbread into the dip. The lamb was tender, the flavours not as overwhelming as he thought. It did have a spiciness to it that had him reaching for the tea in alarm. The Ta'amiya was delightful but very filling, and he found the spinach soup surprisingly refreshing.

"Why is it so creamy?" he asked Robin finally, who was happily chowing down on her own food.

"Yoghurt," she answered simply, and Chrom's eyes bulged. "Not sweet yoghurt, ya dummy!"

The shakshuka was rich, and had a welcome familiarity for Chrom, who was a little overwhelmed with the variety of new foods. He devoured several platefuls of the food, Robin almost matching him plate for plate.

"Good thing we didn't have anyone else," she laughed; reaching for the golden cake she had called basbousa. "I like it just the two of us, anyway."

The cake proved sweet and crumbly, but the greatest surprise was when Robin pulled out a black lacquer box steadily pouring out a good amount of mist. He had thought maybe he misheard Robin when she said they had shaved ice, but when she slide the ornate top off the box it proved to be filled with crunchy lashing of the cold treat, drizzled with a delicate pink syrup.

"How is it not melted?' Chrom wondered, digging into the treat greedily. The rose flavour was unfamiliar and made him feel like he was eating a garden, but it was pleasant nonetheless. And under the afternoon sun, it was a welcome reprieve.

"My mum's a Dark Mage and she hexed it to stay frosty," Robin stated, matching his pace.

Chrom stopped. He pulled the spoon from his mouth with a pop.

"A Dark Mage?" he couldn't believe his ears. "Hexing?"

"Yeah." Robin must have seen the way the blood drained from his face. "No no! It's fine! My mum's a good Dark Mage, not a bad one! Really! She's super nice, really kind to animals, always helps out! Hey, she protects me!" Robin began to tug at one of the pale, fingerless gloves she wore. Finally she freed her hand, and she held it up for his inspection. A dusky mark sprawled out across the back of her hand – Chrom felt like the eyes were actually scrutinizing him. "This! Mum told me to always keep it covered because people might want to hurt me for it, but I can show you, right? I can trust you?"  _Please let me be able to trust you_ , her eyes pleaded.

Chrom gulped, and nodded slowly. "Yeah. You can." Robin actually slumped over with relief. "It's kinda like my mark." Chrom rolled up the sleeve of his shirt so she could see his own brand.

"Wow, we really are alike!" cried Robin, and Chrom blushed in turn.

"Is that why you left Plegia?" he asked. "Because people wanted to hurt you."

"I…guess so," Robin said uncertainly. "Mum doesn't like to talk about it. I can always tell she's thinking about whatever it was, she goes all silent and grey. So I like to remember the good things about Plegia, rather than the bad things that make mum unhappy."

"Why not forget it all, then?"

"What if I became a bad person?"

"Huh? Forgetting Plegia would make you a  _bad_  person?"

"Well yeah." Robin settled back against the tiled roof. "I mean, your history – your memories make you who you are. How do you know what's good and bad without remembering why you think that way?"

"I don't think that's true," Chrom protested a little weakly. "I think – I think that if you're a good person, you'll be that way even if you don't remember anything."

Robin grinned. "You're smarter than you look." She reached out suddenly, running thin fingers through his hair. Chrom suddenly found it very hard to take normal breaths. "You should part it, like this. It's more dashing."

Chrom swelled with pride. She thought he was dashing.

* * *

Chrom hated these outings. Emmeryn insisted they had to go on them. The Royal Family, she said, has been secluded for too long. We haven't seen the people; they think us disconnected and dispassionate. We must work, little brother, to change that.

Emmeryn had changed. In the time she was Exalt. She had been Exalt seven years, and though she had brought many of their soldiers home the people still did not trust her.

A crop had failed. Not an important one, but it had driven the price of grain up enough to spark riots in the market square. Emmeryn had made the decision, against the caution of her advisors, to go out and see to the people, let them know their Exalt heard their pleas and would be there for them.

Chrom wondered, privately, if they would simply take it as Emmeryn lording her status and health over the common people. But as the young prince, he held his tongue. The last thing he wanted to do was undermine Emmeryn, even f the fear for her safety caused a cold, wet stone of foreboding to lodge in his throat.

Emmeryn stood amidst her guards and retinue, as effortlessly poised as always. Chrom had his collar straightened for the umpteenth time, and irritably waived off the maid trying to smooth back his blue hair. He liked it on his face! Well, he didn't, but he liked it anyway the maids didn't like it!

Robin liked it brushed a bit to the side, so when they weren't looking he surreptitiously restyled it in the reflection of a suit of armour.

He hoped he would see Robin again today. After their picnic on the roof, they had planned three more meetings during the day, and Robin had taken to visiting the palace every night. It had gotten to the point Chrom was pinching food from the kitchen so they would have enough between them.

The last two weeks had been bliss, but now he was worried. Robin had come in with the caravans, and would be leaving with them again. The gypsies would rotate according to some complicated and inexplicable roster, different clans and families entering and exiting the city to sell different wares.

When she wasn't around, Chrom was lonely. Even with his beloved sisters, he wanted Robin there to join in. He was sure Lissa would love Robin, and he could picture Emmeryn and Robin having long conversations about politics and economics and gardening and painting. Then his sister could have a friend, too.

Chrom wanted Robin to come and live with them. Her mother could be his mother, and she would make them all delicious food and tell them grand stories of Plegia. Robin had related a little of the folklore and famous tales from Plegia, which had him entranced for hours and Robin blossoming with pride that her home country's history was so fascinating to a prince.

"Chrom, we are ready," Emmeryn's clear voice called, and Chrom hurried to his position.

As they wove deeper into the city, that sense of foreboding was stronger than ever. The streets were lined with people, and though some cheered, many gazed like hungry animals, caught between fight and flight.

It was only when they reach that beloved market square, so full of memories, that things really took a turn for the worse. Recently a group had gained traction amongst the civilians – a group that promoted the use of a people's government and portrayed any form of monarchy in an ill light. They were usually harmless, but Chrom heard the rippled whisper of "fanatics" throughout the guard.

He shivered.

The first rock wasn't flung until Emmeryn's retinue circled the fountain, where they were stretched out the thinnest. It could have come from any part of the crowd; it could have been just a lucky shot.

The rock struck her on the shoulder – the stone itself was jagged and dirty, and it sliced open her skin even as it rained dirt down the front of her pristine robe. Emmeryn staggered, but did not cry out, though the squeal of pain fought against her tightly pursed lips.

This seemed to give the crowd heart, a boiling murmur rushing through it like poison in an artery. More rocks came, and though the guards surged forward to protect the Exalt the sheer storm of rocky projectiles drove them back. Chrom saw several of Emmeryn's retinue collapse, struck down by their injuries, and he fought out of Frederick's crushing grip to his sister.

The stones were brutal – he didn't realize they could hurt so much. He was briefly aware of the crowd noticing him, and gleeful roar to intensify their attack. He was only ten feet away from Emmeryn but the hail from above and the stones already under his feet conspired to slow and stagger him. He threw up his arms as he ran, only to smack straight into another figure.

"Keeping your day busy, then, Chrom," drawled a very welcome voice, and he peered out at Robin. The girl was looking surprisingly battle-ready – her dark coat buckled up around her, a pouch strapped around her waist and a sword at her hip. Her hair was once again braided and tied back, this time with a stout leather strip rather than a pretty ribbon. She was dressed to leave.

She looked like a member of one of the wild Plegian tribes Chrom had heard of. She had that animalistic grace and untamed beauty of a desert warrior, like she had boldly claimed to be that strange first night in his room.

She raised her hand without breaking eye contact with him, and a hurtling stone smacked straight onto her palm. Her fingers closed around it, and for a second Chrom saw tiny flakes of stone shear away between her clenched fingers.

"Tough crrrowd," she commented. She was angry. Her accent got so thick when she was angry, and she rolled her words like a lion's growl. Robin spun delicate on the tips of her toes and hurled the stone back into the crowd, the stone whistling shrilly before striking some unlucky fanatic neatly between the eyes.

There was more blood than Chrom expected. The fanatic collapsed, and now the crowd was pitching their weapons with renewed fury. Robin dragged Chrom over to Emmeryn, shielding him with her body until Emmeryn's bloodstained dress came into view. His sister was swaying but was not undefeated, her breath bubbly and clipped. What really surprised him, and Robin too by the look of bafflement on her face, was that Emmeryn was crying.

Not from her injuries. She ignored them. She looked at her fallen retinue, at the angry, helpless faces of her people. Emmeryn would only cry for herself upon her death.

"They don't mean it," Chrom heard Robin say to Emmeryn softly. "I need you to get down, I'll cover you."

"Why?" Chrom trembled out. Robin's coat was thick, but she already had several bruises blooming across her face, and one ear was bleeding thickly.

"My mother's nearby." With that as her only explanation, Robin grasped them both and covered them as best she could, a royal family member under each arm as the crowd roared their triumph.

"And I think she's had enough of this," Robin whispered to him, and Chrom squeezed his eyes shut.

Instead of the stone crashing against his skull, as he had been fully expecting for a while now, Chrom heard a sharp, pulverizing crack and a gentle puff of dust powdered over him. He winched open one eye, his view of the crowd now obstructed by dark, rich cloth shot through with bands of royal purple.

"Quite enough," a thickly accented voice said above him, and Chrom craned his neck up, staring at the profile of a sharp-featured, pink-haired woman with a pale scar fanning out on her cheek. Her eyes shifted, and Chrom was looking into warm brown eyes, identical to Robin.

"Are you injured?" the woman asked haltingly, her words having the stilted quality of someone who isn't speaking their mother tongue. Her accent was Plegian, the woman was a Plegian.

Like Robin.

Dumbfounded, Chrom shook his head, too dazed to brush away his errant locks.

The woman nodded, and looked at Robin now. Chrom was suddenly very aware that Robin's arms were firmly wrapped around his torso, and that she was very, very warm. He pulled away shyly, by Robin hardly paid him any heed, staring instead at their tall saviour. Emmeryn too stood, the dust fluttering from her clothes.

"Taghrid, are you well?" the woman inquired, reaching out to smooth Robin's hair from her face. Robin submitted for a second, but caught Chrom looking on with a touch of envy. She pulled back and mumbled under her breath, pulling her long sleeves down over the cuts and abrasions the crowd had inflicted.

The woman clearly didn't miss anything though, and her face hardened like a mountain under permafrost. She swirled gracefully to face the crowd, and Chrom thought she moved exactly like the dark mages he had seen in the Royal Plegian envoy, all wild grace and elaborate limb movements.

"I suggest, Ylisseans, you go home for a few hours," she called, her voice easily reaching the far corners of the silent square. "Yes, home will be good. Go home, spend time with – with your families, start a new day tomorrow."

The crowd writhed and muttered, shifting like the tide but unwilling to come too close to the woman. Chrom wondered why, and then snuck a peek at the empty space around them. Emmeryn was still standing regally behind him, her solemn eyes trained on the woman. Though her maids were just fluttering forward, to mope up her wounds and tut over the mob's behaviour, Emmeryn's world was solely occupied by the lady in front of her.

Emmeryn was surrounded by a halo of grey dust, and as Chrom looked around he realized that he and Robin were similarity encircled. For a further twenty feet, the stones that had rained upon them were nothing more than powder, and then were just chips of rock for another ten feet. It was only in the last half foot before the assembly of citizens was the rocks whole.

Chrom gulped, staring at the Plegian woman with renewed fear. The air around her held a metallic tang, one that sent sparks flickering on his fingernails. Robin caught his wandering gaze and nodded appreciatively at him, her white hair slowly unravelling from her braids to fan out behind her. If Chrom though she had looked wild before, it was civilized compared to this magically charged moment.

Between the two Plegian, they both looked ethereal, alien. The crowd was clearly coming to this conclusion as well, because a few of the braver, drunker souls were beginning to move forward.

"Plegian _whore_!"

"Get out of our city!"

"Leave! Get out, you scum!"

"Who do you think – "

What ever was to come next was cut short. The crowd just seconds from surging forward and tearing them to pieces, the Plegian woman raised her left arm to the sky, her hand half-open and her fingers curled into a claw. Her right arm was raised horizontally with her hand gracefully curved like a dancer to point at the fountain, the beautiful fountain carved in an effigy of Chrom's mother and father.

An arc of lightning screamed down from the crystal clear sky and struck her left hand, the limb a ball of electricity right down to the elbow. Her right hand lit up, the lightning passing harmlessly through her body to be expelled with some force from her open palm.

Chrom's world flashed white, and a sound that he more felt than heard smashed into his senses. The whole world seemed to shake, and a sensation he could only describe as  _whuumph_ knocked him backwards.

Strong arms caught him, and through every one of his senses screaming at once, he felt soft hair tickle his cheek. That woodsy, wild smell wafted over him, and Chrom held onto that, held on as tightly as he could until the world was reborn.

When Chrom opened his eyes a few seconds later, his ears still ringing slightly, it was to the smell of smoke and a light, gentle rain pattering down.

He blinked in confusion, seeing the crowd stumbling backwards. They made no sound. It was just the silent, determined movement of a lot of people fleeing for their lives.

Chrom wriggled around so he could look at Robin, whose face was inches from his own but not focusing on him. Instead, they were looking at Emmeryn, who was staring at Robin with a stunned expression that Chrom had never seen before.

Robin spoke. "Are you both alright?" he voice was throaty, low, and her slight slump betrayed how much she had shielded them both from the flying debris. Her dark eyes passed over his face, and Chrom felt his face light up in a brilliant blush.

Robin's gaze didn't linger, but when it switched over to stare searchingly at Emmeryn Chrom was shocked as the Exalt's cheeks burned a similar colour to his own face.

Robin looked beyond them now, staring at the Plegian mage who had done…something. Chrom's eyes widened and his head whipped around so fast the muscles in his neck viscerally protested.

The fountain, one of the last visual reminders he had of his parents was…gone. It was the only way to describe it. Even the fountain's foundations had been torn up, leaving a vast, crumbling crater in the middle of the square. A few melted, twisted pipes still weakly sprinkled water, a sickening parody of the great fountain Chrom had visited near every day.

His knees turned to jelly, and Chrom's stomach churned so violently he began to dry retch, coughing against the dust coating the back of his throat. Robin gently lowered him to the ground, and Emmeryn along with him – the Exalt's eyes were still wide with surprise – no fear, though. Emmeryn was startled, like a deer in a meadow.

"Taghrid, we must go now," the woman called calmly. Chrom fixed his eyes on her. She was so serene, looking as though all she had done was drop an apple; instead of obliterate a good portion of the Main Square. Her coat flapped gently in the breeze, rustling the fabric in such it way it made the embroidered eyes on her sleeves blink and flutter. The scar on her cheek seemed illuminated, lit by in internal light, before fading back to a normal scar.

She smiled at him. "I am so sorry, little one, Taghrid must come away now. It is time for lunch. And, perhaps, another city."

A tiny hand on his arm made Chrom jump a mile, and his blush returned all at once when Robin giggled good-naturedly. "Thanks for playing with me," she said wistfully. She leaned over then, so close, and gaze him a light peck in the cheek. She smiled at him again, a little sadly, and Chrom felt like his heart was going to drop through his stomach. "Your sleeve is all torn off, where your birthmark thingy is. It's very charming."

Chrom could only gape, his mouth bobbing like a fish out of water, while Robin strolled over to Emmeryn, who was now standing. Even so, Robin matched her in height. "Good bye, Miss Exalt," Robin said formally. "I hope you're not too hurt."

"No, child," Emmeryn said softly. "Thank you for your concern. You have – " Emmeryn's words appeared to choke her briefly, but Robin stood patiently until the Exalt reigned in her emotions. "It pleases me to no end, that a Plegian would look after my welfare," Emmeryn finished, reaching out and cupping Robin's cheek.

Robin beamed at her, her eyes crumpling up until her face was almost all grin. "Anytime, Miss Exalt!" her face turned serious all of a sudden. "My mother – " Robin waved over to the waiting woman, and Chrom kicked himself for not putting two and two together, "- says that growing up in Plegia wouldn't have been good for me. A lot of people hurting.  _Suffering_ , she said."

They shared a look then, a look that Chrom wouldn't understand for many years. It was the look of two women who were much older than their years and had seen more anguish than they should in a lifetime. "Someone has to speak for those who have no voices," Robin said quietly. "Do your people have a voice, Miss Exalt?"

Robin leaned forward, same as she had with Chrom, and brushed a kiss against the Exalts brand on Emmeryn's forehead. She gave them both another huge grin, and then sprinted off to join her mother.

"Did you enjoy playing with your friends, my darling?" Chrom heard her mother ask. Robin seemed to ponder the question briefly, and then answered with an enthusiastic nod.

"Do you think we'll come back here, mum?" Robin asked as the crowd parted before them like the sea in front of a prophet. Around the two nobles, their retinue came flooding back.

"You may, my darling," her mother answered, glancing back and catching Chrom's eye just before his caretakers closed around him. "You have ties here."

**Author's Note:**

> I considered splitting it into chapters, but no. Let me know what you think! The chose the food Robin served to be a mishmash of Egyptian/Middle Eastern food. It's all delicious.


End file.
